The walls in my suite are all beige and white and lavender. I guess they think that those colors are soothing. I spend forty-five minutes just staring at the walls.
Fuck.
I feel calmer.
Stupid walls.
.
.
After lunch in my room, I am "encouraged" to take a walk in the Serenity Garden. I have a feeling that encouraged really means required. I don't even change. I'm still wearing the yoga pants I wore on the plane. Although, I suppose that yoga pants are appropriate attire for this place. According to the pamphlet that was left on my bed, they offer a class every ten seconds.
Yoga is stupid.
And I am not flexible.
.
.
The garden is lovely. I try to ignore the fact that I notice. It's filled with lush green plants and flowers in soothing and stimulating colors.
I get it.
Peace and happiness.
I roll my eyes and head over to the courtyard. I can't deal with peace and happiness right now. Nothing is peaceful, and I am definitely not happy.
I take a seat on a stone bench. It almost looks as if it had grown up from inside the ground. There is a small Zen pool in the middle of the courtyard. The water trickles down smooth stones, almost in harmony with the soft chatter of birds in the distance.
I take a deep breath.
I close my eyes.
I try to focus on anything other than the reason I'm here. Not the fact that my company sent me, but what happened that led to them making me.
It doesn't work.
One hour later, I'm still sitting in the same spot. The birds are still chirping and the water is still tink-tink-tinkling down the stones.
I am still angry.
I am still hurt.
The only purpose the Zen pool seems to serve – making me feel like I need to pee.
I am just about to stand up when I feel this energy all around me. Now this – this – is soothing and stimulating. Maybe the flowers have actual magic powers.
I am still for a moment. Even my bladder forgets that it's supposed to be clenching and spasming.
This energy feels real…tangible.
It covers my skin. It makes my hair stand on end. I wonder if there was some sort of drug added to the green tea I drank with lunch.
And then I hear a voice.
His voice.
"You are the loveliest thing in this garden."
I turn around, and I'm faced with the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. Tall and lean and a perfect face with so many angled lines it's almost like he was drawn by a Disney animator. Or Michelangelo.
Drugs.
The tea was definitely drugged.
"That's not true," I tell him. Mostly because he is actually the loveliest thing in this garden. But also because even through the peyote-induced haze, I realize that's the lamest thing anyone could ever say. "I am not lovely."
The afternoon sun shines on his copper hair making it look like a golden halo.
Fuck that.
He's definitely not an angel.
Angels have wings. And they don't wear jeans and Dartmouth t-shirts.
"What are you?" he asks.
"Angry." I tell him, standing up. "I'm really fucking angry."
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